


Under the Mask

by sebviathan



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Confessions, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gen, Identity Issues, Insecurity, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 08:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: A run-in with a crack pilot, a spirited little girl, and an explosion gives Darkwing Duck a bit of an identity crisis.





	Under the Mask

**Author's Note:**

> takes place during the events of Darkly Dawns the Duck, part 1 and 2.

"You mean you don't take off your mask for  _anyone_?"

"That's right! Not no one, not never."

It occurs to him, as he says that, that even  _he_  rarely sees himself without the mask on. That it's more or less a part of him, and he's so accustomed to the feeling of fabric around his eyes that he has one to sleep in, too. That he can't remember the last time he looked in a mirror while not wearing it. That truly, it doesn't matter how plausible or even  _possible_  it is at any moment that someone else might see the face under the mask—that he never goes more than a split second without it on.

Other than when he showers, but Darkwing's sure that that goes without saying.

" _What_  about—" the Waddlemeyer kid starts, startling him out of his head, "...a really, really,  _really_  close friend?"

She bats her eyelashes in that way that briefly hijacks his brain and taps into some latent nurturing instinct, again, as she hands him his hat.

"Well, uh...  _maybe_ —" Then he snaps out of it, angry with himself, and adds a forceful " _someday_."

He doesn't want the kid getting her hopes up about something so improbable.

 

***

 

The force of the explosion throws him off the roof of Canard Tower, and it blows out any will that there might have been in Darkwing's bones to stop it.

He falls, and falls, and falls, for what feels like over an hour, and he is  _sure_  that he is going to die. He falls and then he stops, and he  _collides_ , and he feels pain erupt in every last cell in his body... and then a split-second later, he blacks out.

 

*

 

Darkwing wakes to find nothing but darkness above him, and stench around him, and pain still inside him. He assumes he's dead and in Hell.

Then he shifts and knocks his head against something distinctly metal. Immediately after that, he feels what can only be a styrofoam cup near his hand.

He now assumes he's in a dumpster.

It takes everything Darkwing has to sit up in this pile of garbage and push the dumpster lid open, and almost  _more_  than he has to climb out... but he does it. He finds himself in an alley right at the base of Canard Tower—clearly just he dove straight down when he fell. He looks up in spite of the fracture he certainly has in his neck and sees a large chunk missing from the top of the tower, but also some beams in place that evidence a repair in progress.

Yeesh, how long was he in that dumpster?

Darkwing arches his neck back down and groans, then collapses against the wall of this alley. Relieved as he is to be alive, this makes things so much more complicated. There's simply no way he'll make it to his headquarters in this state—not even if he  _had_  the Ratcatcher, wherever that is now...

And even if he could, he for once doubts his ability to recover from his injuries unaided.

Looks like he's left to his last resort.

 

*

 

"Mr. Mallard... Mr. Mallard?—Is he coherent? ...Mr. Mallard, please, we need to know if there's anyone we should contact for you."

Who the hell is  _Mr. Mallard_?

Oh—shit, right. That's him.

Darkwing's head swims (more than it already was) upon that realization. Of course, he already made the decision to ditch his uniform in the dumpster and don the  _very_  wrinkled civilian disguise that he's been carrying around in a pocket for years, for an occasion just like this... But part of him, he supposes, had forgotten that those clothes weren't always a disguise.

He also forgot that that set of clothes carried his ID card, with his legal name on it.

He hasn't even  _looked_  at that card in at least a year, let alone been addressed aloud by that name.

Part of him suddenly regrets ever leaving that dumpster. Part of him wishes he just died on the pavement before getting anyone's attention, or in the ambulance on the way here. Part of him wants to hurl himself right off of this gurney so he won't have to face the identity that he shoved in a dusty wallet so long ago.

 _All_ of him, then, feels almost painfully naked without his mask on. His hand reflexively moves to cover his eyes, but he's stopped by a stab of pain that shoots up his arm and through the rest of his body.

"Oh, no, I think he's going into shock—"

And then he actually registers the nurse's question. And he remembers that, for the first time _since_  he shoved his old identity away... he actually  _does_  have someone that the hospital could contact for him.

" _Launchpad McQuack_ ," he says, or... garbles out to some degree, judging by the nurses' reactions. "You... contact. For me. I don't—I dunno his number, but just you—can look it up? Can't be many... Launchpads... in St. Canard—shit, is that even...? Whatever. McQuack. He's a pilot. You can find 'im."

"So sorry, Mr. Mallard, I know you must be in a lot of pain, but do you think you could write down the name of the person? We couldn't understand a word of that."

He gives some strained version of a nod and reaches out with his good hand—unfortunately his non-dominant one—for a pen and paper.

"Oh, and could you put your insurance information on there while you're at it?"

Darkwing grits his teeth. " _Sure thing_."

It occurs to him, as he's shakily writing how he can only  _assume_  Launchpad's name is spelt, that the guy will have no idea  _who_  he's supposed to be visiting if the hospital just tells him his legal name. As much as Darkwing likes that sort of dramatic reveal, he'd rather not risk Launchpad thinking it's a mistake and not coming at all.

He adds at the bottom of the page, underlined and in a big circle,

 

_TELL HIM IT'S D.W._

 

_*_

 

Practically before he knows it, Darkwing is in a hospital bed next to the window, floating on a sea of morphine, and catching about every other line of a Hawk & Order rerun that's playing on a TV in the corner. He sinks into the bliss that is only  _minimal_  pain and allows himself, for once, to be utterly unaware of the world around him.

Until the door to the room slams open, that is. Even if that sound alone wasn't impossible to ignore, it's followed by,

"D.W.!"

The monitor beside him lets him know how far his heart has jumped before he actually registers it himself.

The couple nurses who are attending to other patients in the room all simultaneously make shushing noises, but Launchpad doesn't seem to notice. He just makes a beeline for Darkwing's bed, tears spilling from his eyes, and his beak stretched into a grin.

"I'm so sorry it took so long, D.W.," he says breathlessly as he makes it to his side, "they wouldn't let me see ya! I guess you had... somethin' like two or three surgeries, and then they insisted you had to rest and still weren't 'fit for visitors' until... well, about exactly now. I sprinted up here the second they said I could."

Hearing that makes his heart monitor go a little crazy again, but just briefly before it occurs to him—

"Wait... 'so long'?" he repeats. "...How long has it been since they called you?"

"About ten hours," Launchpad answers without batting an eyelash. But he does reach for Darkwing's hand.

" _Ten hours?_ " He lets him take it. "And you... you've actually been waiting here that whole time, even though you knew you wouldn't be able to talk to me for a while?"

"Well, of course I did! I mean I—I spent a whole day thinkin' you were  _dead_ , D.W.! You were my hero and I only just got to meet ya, and... God, I just can't believe you're alive. How on earth  _are_  you alive? Oh!" Launchpad's eyes light up. "Is it some superpower I didn't know about—?"

" _Keep your voice down,_ " Darkwing hisses, glancing around to make sure none of the other patients are listening. He still can't move his neck much so it takes a second, but he's in the clear. "And... no, I don't. Except—plot armor, I guess," he sighs.

Then he looks back up at Launchpad and finds the man's eyes still glistening a bit with tears. He's suddenly, intensely reminded of why he made this man his emergency contact, along with something else—

"What'd you do with Gosalyn after the explosion?"

"Oh—I, uh..." He looks a bit sad, now. "Took her back to the orphanage. Should I not have?"

"No—that's good. She's safe there. Wouldn't have anywhere else to go, anyway."

So why does knowing that she's there make him so  _sad_?

Except, well. He  _knows_  why, doesn't he?

He knew it when he spent half a night in jail the other day (though it feels more like a week ago). He knew it when he risked his life to save Gosalyn's in less than a heartbeat. And he knew it, however vaguely, when he told the nurses who to contact for him.

"Launchpad—" he starts abruptly without really thinking. The duck in question makes a noise of affirmation and leans closer. Squeezes his hand again.

Oh, god. Darkwing swallows a lump in his throat.

He's been given a wake-up call.

"Yeah, D.W.?"

It's crazy, and it's impulsive, and it's unlike him, but... he wants to take it.

"I've... been Darkwing Duck for a very long time."

Launchpad grins. "Yeah, I know. I've been following your career best I could since pretty much the start."

"No, I mean—I've been...  _only_  Darkwing Duck for a very long time." He's all but whispering, but he feels the need to glance around again, just to make sure. "My... lone-wolf, vigilante persona... has been my life. My  _whole_  life, for years. I haven't really... done anything else. Or  _been_  anything else, in a while."

He wants to laugh. Both at how difficult it is for him to admit even the half of this, and... at how stupidly  _obvious_  all this should have been.

For the past several years, he's been so, terribly  _lonely_. And he realized it in about two goddamn nights! In just  _one_  of those nights, has he no doubt, he felt far more personal fulfillment than he'd had in  _all_  his previous time as Darkwing Duck, Terror That Flaps In The Night. Countless criminals thrown in prison due to his efforts? Inarguably, cannot hold a candle to saving Gosalyn Waddlemeyer's life. Not even to the mere feat of seeing her safe and happy, or seeing her  _spirit_  in action.

And  _now_ , lying here in this hospital bed as the duck  _underneath_  Darkwing... he's more or less stuck, sure. Several of his bones are all but shattered. His face still feels naked and deeply uncomfortable in a way that morphine can't fix. But his heart beats nearly all the way out of his chest because—

Because he has a  _fan_. He has a Biggest Fan, at that. He has someone so devoted to him that they would build an actual plane  _in the shape of his face_ , and would go to such lengths to become his sidekick, and would willingly stay in a hospital waiting room, of all places, for  _ten hours_. Someone who would sit by his bedside and squeeze his hand the way it's being squeezed now, and who would  _look_  at him... the way he's being looked at now.

Launchpad McQuack has been in his life for only days, but Darkwing already feels certain that he has so much more than a  _fan_ , in him.

"My name is Drake Mallard," he says quickly, feeling like all his breath has suddenly left him. Launchpad looks the same. "...Which is something that you need to know now that you're my sidekick, and now that... I'm choosing to live as him again. At least—at least during the daytime, and long enough to get that name on the deed to a house. God, a  _house_ —but... well. It's only fair to Gosalyn, isn't it? She deserves a normal life, and she can't exactly have that living in the top of a bridge..."

He goes through most of those decisions right on the spot, feeling simultaneously overwhelmed with them, and very certain of himself. He hasn't really any other choice, has he?

"Oh—you're gonna adopt her?" Launchpad practically shouts—after a bit  _too_  long of a pause, but in absolute glee nonetheless. He gets shushed by the nurses again and momentarily looks apologetic this time. "Aw, man, D.W... she's gonna be so excited. She was so crushed when I had to take her back to the orphanage that I—jeez, I dunno the first thing about bein' a dad but I almost tried to adopt her myself!"

Funny that he says that, because neither Darkwing  _nor_  Drake know the first thing about being a dad, either. If anyone had asked him a mere week ago if he thought that he'd ever want kids, he'd have insisted that he didn't have a paternal bone in his body.

Now, he wants nothing more.

" _Well_ , sidekick...," That gets Launchpad to settle down again. "In that case, any chance you'll want to help with child supervision? And possibly... some other household chores? You—you don't  _have_  to, of course, I know that sounds like a serious proposal and I wouldn't ask you to uproot your own life in order to be my sidekick, but... you know, even in terms of  _fighting crime_  it'll be a million times more convenient for us to live in the same space..."

He trails off, a bit worried, at the sight of Launchpad's firmly-held expression. The guy doesn't seem to have blinked the whole time.

"D.W., you had me at 'well, sidekick.'"

It truly hits him, then, that this is happening. That he's locked in, and that as soon as he's fit to leave this hospital, he'll be directly on his way to becoming... a  _father_. He'll have to go house-shopping. And car-shopping. And furniture-shopping.  _And_  clothes-shopping, because while Darkwing Duck has all  _he_  needs... Drake has nothing.

He's really starting from scratch here, isn't he? Darkwing's whole life is about to change, and somehow, he  _wants_  it.

Launchpad seems to be going through something similar, at least, judging by his terrible attempts to hold back tears.

"You alright, there, Launchpad?" he thinks to ask. It helps take the focus off of his own crisis.

"Yeah," he sniffs, wiping one eye. "I just... wow, I really can't believe I'm gonna be roommates with  _Darkw—_!"

In a panic, Drake jerks his good hand out of Launchpad's grip and clamps it around the man's beak before he can finish that word. He's met with a guilty, yet amused look, and a very muffled and gritted  _sorry, dee-dubya_. After a moment of deliberation, he lets go.

"Yeah... we'll have to work on that."

 

*

 

The more he stresses to Launchpad that it's important his identities as Drake Mallard and Darkwing Duck remain separate in the public eye, the easier it becomes for him to conceptualize it himself. The easier it becomes to actually start thinking of himself  _as_ Drake, again.

For Launchpad, however, the idea of calling him Drake doesn't seem to sit very easily. He spends every possible moment that the hospital will allow by his side for the following days, and he needs to be reminded just about every few minutes that  _it's Drake, right now._  And he definitely appears to  _try_ , but a few minutes later he's using the initials again like it already slipped his mind.

At least the initials don't actually give away his heroic identity, and he's clearly more inclined to use them than to actually say  _Darkwing_... But more than being a relief, it's just confusing.

Eventually instead of correcting him, Drake simply accepts it, and pauses, and then asks,

"Hey, Launchpad—why 'D.W.?'"

"Oh—I'm sorry, I said it again, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, but I'm not—I'm just curious, honestly. It's much more of a mouthful to say than just... you know."

"Darkwing?"

Drake flinches and glances around again.

"...Yeah. I mean—sorry, Launchpad, but what's the point of a nickname that actually takes _longer_  to say? I don't get it."

His new sidekick immediately looks embarrassed. After a few seconds, though, it fades into only somewhat nervous laughter.

"Huh. I guess it does actually take longer out loud, doesn't it? I didn't really think about that."

Drake raises an eyebrow. "You didn't?"

"Nah. It's just... well, I guess I gotta start from the beginning." Launchpad takes a breath that makes Drake's eyebrow arch further. "...The second I first heard of you, I swear, I started buying a paper every day just for the  _chance_  I'd hear more. You're pretty much the first hero St. Canard has ever had, and you're basically the hero I always  _hoped_  it could have one day because—I mean, it's ridiculously cheap, but it's a  _mess_. It's so dangerous! And the police don't do nothin'!"

"Well, glad we agree—"

"And that's why I just always felt sure that sooner or later, you'd get traction in the news like  _that_ —" Launchpad snaps his fingers. "I told pretty much everyone I knew how sure I was, and... for some reason no one else really seemed to believe it. But from... gosh, at least two years ago, now, I was  _so_  sure that I started thinkin'—you know, when the newspapers start reporting Darkwing more often, they're not gonna have to worry about anyone in St. Canard not knowing who he is anymore! And so to save space in the headlines, they'll probably shorten it to 'D.W.' And, uh... I guess the idea just stuck."

He turns back to Drake, with that, his face noticeably redder than before as he shrugs and grins.

Drake has to be glad that he's not hooked up to a heart monitor anymore.

"Oh," he says simply, in spite of his eyes growing moist. "That's... actually a, um. Pretty good nickname origin story, heh."

Launchpad beams. "You think so? In that case I bet you'll really love this tagline I came up with for the Darkwing brand: 'Darkwing Duck - when there's trouble you, call D.W.!"

" _Huh_." Shit, that really  _is_  good. "...You know what, Launchpad, I'll take it. D.W.'s fine to use wherever."

"Aw, really?"

"Yes— _but!_  You really should still  _try_  to call me Drake when the mask is off."

"'Course, D.W."

"...Hm. Well, anyway, I've been meaning to ask—is 'Launchpad' your...?" He trails off, hoping Launchpad will fill in the blank for him. But he just tilts his head quizzically. "Uh. Did you make it up for a superhero thing?"

"Oh! No, I didn't. It's my real name!" he answers, almost  _suspiciously_  cheerful.

" _Oh_. Do you mean... 'real' as in, um." Drake doesn't  _want_  to pry, but something in him  _needs_  to. Nevermind his growing discomfort as Launchpad barely reacts. "Did you give yourself the name?"

"Nope!"

Drake blinks. Launchpad doesn't elaborate.

"So you're telling me... that your  _parents_  gave you the same 'Launchpad.' At birth?" he practically croaks out, finally.

"Yeah, they did!"

 _Alright, that one_ had _to be passive-aggressive,_  Drake decides—and promptly apologizes.

"Sorry?" Launchpad frowns. "For what?"

_You gotta be kidding me._

"For—needing to get some rest. I'm tired," he tells him. Luckily, it's technically true. And Launchpad has no trouble believing it.

"Aw, yeah, it is kinda late. Well. Think about it this way, D.W.—they'll definitely be letting you go not long after you wake back up, and then we can finally go get Gosalyn!"

He  _was_  already thinking of it that way, but he must admit, hearing Launchpad  _say_  it does cheer him up very much. Perhaps it's the use of the word 'we.' Or maybe it just gets his mind off the foot in his mouth.

It helps him fall asleep faster, regardless.

 

***

 

"If nowhere else, the orphanage is the one place you really  _should_  just refer to me as Drake. If you  _have_  to refer to me as anything. Because, you know—they need to  _trust_  me before they just hand Gosalyn over. So it would be good for them to meet you and know that there's another adult in the house. And if you're calling me some nickname that doesn't make any sense with my  _legal_  initials, it's just—they might ask questions! I don't know! Let's just be on the safer side, make sure they don't have  _any_  complicated questions to ask in the first place, alright, Launchpad?"

He turns his head to nod at the heavily bandaged Darkwing in the passenger's seat, only for Darkwing to grab him by the beak and turn his attention back onto the road. He narrowly avoids hitting the curb.

"Ooh—good call, D.W."

The other man sighs deeply. " _Launchpad_."

"Sorry! Uh, good call, Drake."

" _Thank_  you. Now, I think I should go in first. And while you find a place to park,  _you_  should practice saying that more. Hopefully that'll get it stuck in your head for the afternoon."

"Good idea," Launchpad tells him with a short laugh. And adds, after a second, "Drake."

Darkwing gives him a  _good luck_  sort of pat on the arm before the leaves the car, and Launchpad watches out the window to make sure he's fine on those crutches. Then he disappears through the front doors of the orphanage, and Launchpad's chest suddenly feels tight.

He takes a deep breath while he searches for an available and legal parking space.

" _Drake Mallard_ ," he mutters, somewhat shakily, to himself.

He knows that it's stupid. He knows how many damn times that Darkwing—that  _Drake_  has had to ask him to do this, and how ridiculous it must seem that he can't.

It's just—

In all the time he's spent idolizing this guy, even in the time he spent building the Thunderquack, Launchpad never  _dreamt_  he'd actually be in this position.

A sidekick to Darkwing Duck? Sure, his dreams shot high enough for that.

But... knowing  _more_  than just Darkwing?

Being  _trusted_ with all that deeply personal information, and so soon after meeting him?

Having a place in his life not only as a coworker, but as a  _friend_?

It's just... everything he's ever thought and felt about Darkwing Duck is changing all at once. For the  _better_ , obviously, but. It's just so much.

"... _Drake_ ," Launchpad repeats under his breath, still feeling not quite worthy of it.

He can only hope that someday, he will.

**Author's Note:**

> ......and then launchpad crashes directly into the orphanage wall. so much for good first impressions kjhdsdfghg BUT clearly, ya know, it worked.
> 
> i actually haven't finished watching the whole show so i don't really know for SURE whether this is fully canon-compliant or not, but i can only assume that no more information is really given on the events of the pilot episodes? so i took that chance. because i was rewatching the pilot and realized that absolutely nothing was established whatsoever about the interactions dw and lp HAD to have had in-between the explosion and going to adopt gosalyn. and naturally, God immediately grabbed my hands and made me write this.
> 
> also, i genuinely headcanon now that the theme song was essentially written by launchpad. the lyrics that feel out of place or fall flat make more sense and now have more character to them, this way.


End file.
